Maintaining the Lie
by Heath07
Summary: Kind of a tag to Boys and Girls, except with some very big differences. PamJim


**Title:** Maintaining the Lie

**Rating:** R

**Author:** Heath07

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, etc.

**Summary:** Spoilers for the whole series, to be safe. I guess this is kind of a tag to Boys and Girls, except with some very big differences. Michael basically runs over Jim with the forklift. No, really. Okay, so it's not as simple as that. There's some angst. **Pam/Jim**.

* * *

She's the first one through the doors and she doesn't realize that she's running until she nearly knocks down an orderly two doors away from Jim's room. Background noises don't penetrate. Not the clang of the bell at the nurse's station nor whispered sympathies or the hollow wails of other patients. They don't matter. The sights and smells and movement of the hospital are drowned out by her need to see him…her need to make sure he's okay. Because she's not. Not at all okay. All she notices is what's in front of her. White washed halls that go on forever, turning in a maze that doesn't seem to have an ending. 

She left Roy to park the truck…practically threw her purse at him when he asked for change for the meter.

She enters the room, breathless and holding onto her left side where a cramp had settled in just below her ribs.

He's sitting up in bed, eating Jell-O and watching a re-run of The Daily Show. It's not the image she had in her mind. Somehow she pictured something out of a Lifetime movie; machines timely beeping, people crying, maybe his parents staring down at his prone body, looking helpless and lost…certainly something more dramatic than this.

"Jim!" she shouts, louder than she meant to, as if surprised to see him. She knows she's acting strange, but it's too hard to remember what normal sounds like. Forget what it feels like, because the second she heard the ambulance sirens, all hope of normal flew out the window.

His head snaps to the side, catching sight of her for the first time. There are a number of different emotions that pass over his face—too quickly for her to get a good read on how he is, but he seems to be able to read her clearly.

"Relax, Beesley. It's just a broken leg. And possible concussion," he adds quietly, almost sheepish, as he grins up at her. "You coming in, or are you going to lurk in the hallway for the rest of the day? If you choose to stay out there, I _do_ have to warn you, we're two floors down from the psych ward and I heard something about a breakout earlier today. Hey! You think I could get Dwight committed?"

She opens her mouth to speak, but her vocal cords have seized up and no sound comes out.

The silence stretches.

"Pam?"

There is no way to miss the concern in his eyes. And, of course, _he_ would be the one concerned when he's lying in a hospital bed injured and she's standing over him, perfectly all right, except for the way she's staring and acting like a complete dork.

Her gaze shifts. The white cast stands out starkly against the tan expanse of his legs. The paper hospital gown he's wearing is too small and she can see the outline of his body, his broad shoulders and solid chest, the hard lines of his pectorals and biceps and every muscle usually covered up by shirtsleeves and decency. There's a hint of his boxers where the blanket has been kicked away. She notes that they're blue and white checkered, just the way she thinks they should be. Not that she's ever thought about Jim in his boxers before…in only his boxers. She is now, though. Just the thought makes her blush. She swallows. Hard.

His face is bruised and his leg is in a cast and the only thing she can think is that she has to touch him to make sure he's really here.

She moves before she allows herself time to think about it.

His skin is hot under her hand. Long fingers gently stroke her knuckles and his thumb plays a steady rhythm against her palm. She looks down and wonders how her hand got tangled with his and how she even made it across the room, at all, on such shaky limbs.

He's looking at her so intensely, she can barely breathe.

"You're okay?"

"Perfectly fine. Nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about? I thought--"

But she doesn't get a chance to finish because Dwight and Michael rush the room, followed by Kevin, Oscar, Toby, Phyllis and Meredith. They immediately crowd him, blocking her view. Angela isn't far behind but she sticks close to the door and catches Pam's eye. They exchange a look—a look too terrifying to acknowledge. It's almost like sympathy. It's like Angela feels sorry for her…like she knows _exactly_ how Pam is feeling at this very moment--which is just ridiculous because_ Pam_ doesn't even know what she's feeling.

Darryl and Roy stroll into the room ten minutes later, reigniting the excitement. Everyone starts to talk all at once.

Pam's head feels really full. There's an achy feeling in the pit of her stomach that just won't go away.

She catches sight of Jim through the wall of her coworkers. He's smiling and as he catches her eye, his eyes sparkle and his smile turns into a soft laugh. As if to say to her _"this is crazy!"_

She smiles back and the urgency of the ache seems to diminish.

"I don't know what happened." Michael is saying when she finally tunes back in. "It just got away from me. I'm so sorry, Jim. I…really-"

Darryl rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "I told you to slow down, man."

"Yeah, what do you think, you're Mario Andretti or something?" Roy adds, clapping Jim on the shoulder and letting out a great belly laugh. "But, man, you should have seen the way you flew through the air."

Jim stares into his lap and Pam can easily see that his cheeks are stained red.

"What's this thing made of? Doesn't seem very solid," Dwight says, tapping the cast. "I bet I could break this puppy open with one solid karate chop," he proclaims, bringing his fist down way too hard.

"Dammit, Dwight! Grow up!" Michael yells.

Jim rears forward. He closes his eyes and breathes in slowly. Pam's heart lurches at the thought of him in so much pain.

"You okay?" she whispers, automatically placing her hand on his solid shoulder. She can feel the muscles tense and flex before finally relaxing underneath her fingers.

He looks up, catching her eye and attempts a fake smile. "I'll live…as long as you keep Dwight at least twenty feet away from me from now on."

"Suck it up, Jim. I didn't even use one tenth of the power I'm capable of."

Pam shoots Dwight a menacing look that clearly says _back off_.

Jim's nurse walks into the room at that moment and the room gets quiet. It isn't hard to miss the way all the men tilt their heads to the side as they check her out. Even Roy gives her an appreciative glance when he doesn't think Pam is looking.

But not Jim. Jim is looking at her and smiling.

But Pam doesn't miss the way he grits his teeth as Little Miss Nurse shifts the pillow under his leg and checks his IV.

She injects him with some clear liquid and Pam can just barely hear her hushed words. Something about feeling better soon and that he's going to start to feel groggy.

"Five more minutes," Little Miss Nurse informs them, "and then this one here has to rest."

She pats Jim's leg and for some reason that achy feeling flares again in Pam's stomach.

The chatter starts up again almost immediately, but Pam can't make heads or tails of who is saying what.

"Hey, Halpert, at least you got a hot nurse. Maybe later you could ask for a sponge bath, eh, Jimmy?"

"Yeah," Jim says, and rolls his eyes at her.

Roy won't look at her because he knows he's in trouble. They've been at this thing long enough for him to know what pushes her buttons. Or maybe he doesn't…because he relaxes against her and pats her leg.

"Maybe later, you and I could have a little sponge bath of our own, huh, Pammy?" Roy whispers—too loudly—into her ear.

It feels like the whole room is watching them. She shrugs it off with false laughter. She _hates_ when he calls her Pammy…and when he acts so…so much like all the guys she's spent her whole life being repulsed by. There is a lot to love about Roy, but his knack for subtlety isn't one of them.

"We should all get going. Jim's had a long day and I'm sure he would appreciate some rest," Toby says, as he stands.

There is a stack of papers in his briefcase for Jim to fill out. He leaves them on the nightstand beside the bible Angela brought (because "_God can get you through this, Jim.") _and shakes his hand. "Feel better."

"Thanks," Jim says, with that shy smile of his.

"Okay! You heard the man. I was going to do some impression for you, but, uh, yeah, I guess that can wait until tomorrow. Although, they do say laughter is the best medicine."

"I think you've done enough damage," Darryl murmurs under his breath.

"What's that?"

"Nothing, man."

"All right, troops, move it on out."

"Thanks for coming," Jim says.

"And Jim? I really am sorry."

"I know, Michael. Don't even worry about it."

"Oh-kay. We'll come by tomorrow."

"Uh, you know what? I think they're releasing me tomorrow, so really, there's no need to go to any trouble."

"Nonsense, my friend!"

Dwight follows Michael out the door and then Angela follows him. Oscar, Kevin and Meredith tell Jim they're glad he's okay and leave soon after. Phyllis ruffles his hair like he's a little boy and tells him to feel better.

Darryl and Roy rib him about Little Miss Nurse some more before shaking his hand in some macho display of solidarity.

"Hey, get on that man. For real."

"Sponge bath, Jimmy. Sponge bath."

"Right, I'll do my best," Jim says, watching them leave and settles back against the pillows.

Pam lingers at the door and watches the tired lines of Jim's features.

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"You're really okay?"

"Yeah, get out of here, Beesley. I got me a standing appointment for a sponge bath."

"Yeah, that'll happen."

"'Night."

"Goodnight."

In the hallway, Roy and Darryl are goofing around and Pam turns to give the room one last look.

"You ready, babe?" Roy says, when he catches sight of her.

"Uh, yeah. Actually, no. Hey, uh, would you mind if I, um…if I just stayed here a while? It's just, Jim's my best friend and…"

She doesn't finish. She doubts Roy's even still really listening anymore anyway.

"Nah, the game's on anyway and Halpert's a good guy. What time do you think you'll be home, because I sort of told Darryl he could crash on the couch tonight. He had a fight with his old lady."

Oh. So there's a tradeoff--a few hours at the hospital in exchange for a houseguest for the night? A houseguest that will inevitably become a permanent resident for maybe a month or two, at least. Just another person she'll have to clean up after. But pizza boxes and dirty laundry scattered on her living room floor seem like a good swap to be there for Jim when he needs her. Not that he came out and said he needed her, but she knows.

Still, somehow she wishes that Roy were more skeptical. Or that he wasn't so trusting. Because she's not really sure she trusts herself right now.

Pam sighs.

"It'll probably be late."

"That's cool. Try not to wake me up, okay, babe?"

"Sure. Bye."

She pecks his cheek. The stubble scrapes against her skin and she flinches as he hugs her too hard. She holds on far too long and when she lets go, he's looking at her funny and she feels stupid.

She waits a few minutes before she re-enters Jim's room. A few calming breathes are necessary before she enters. She leans against the doorframe and watches him for a minute. His eyes are closed and his toes are wiggling in the tight confines of the cast. She almost giggles out loud, but that would give her away. Finally, his eyes blink open.

"Hey," she says.

"Hey! I thought you left. I mean, I saw you leave. Forget something?"

"Nah. I thought you could use the company. You're stuck with me, Halpert, so suck it."

It's late now. And since the room has cleared, she's left alone with Jim for the second time. Everything she wanted to say before, she could say now, but somewhere along the line she lost her nerve.

She sits at the end of his bed, flipping through the channels on the grainy TV.

His eyes are on her. She can feel them burning into her skin, heating her up and making the air in the room seem thin and hot. But she won't turn to look at him.

"_Wow_, this is great. You're awesome company, Pam. I'm really glad you stayed. I haven't been this entertained since this morning at breakfast when Dwight made little happy faces out of his pancakes. But _this_? Tops happy face pancakes any day. Thank you."

Her smile inches onto her face slowly, but she still won't turn to look at him. "I could always call up Dwight."

"No! Pam, you wouldn't."

"I could if you don't stop acting like a brat."

"Ooh, Smack Talk Pam making a comeback. So, you goin' to sign my cast, or what?"

She finally turns around and her smile automatically broadens.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure."

The awkwardness melts away as easily as ever.

"Now close your eyes and I'll tell you when to open them."

He quirks an eyebrow but complies none-the-less.

"Okay," she says, nearly half-an-hour later, "open them."

She looks over her work, quite pleased with herself. She's taken up nearly the entire one side of his cast with a cartoon strip, containing six squares of perfectly sized caricatures using black felt-tipped marker. Her eyes lift to his face. He's shaking his head, but smiling, which she takes as a good sign.

"Well?"

"Ugh, you do realize that I have to walk around with this thing on my leg for six weeks, right?"

"So?"

She admires her work again. On the cast she's drawn Dwight and Jim and herself as cartoons. It's of the time they tried to convince Dwight that he could fly. She's even drawn him taping feathers to his suit jacket.

Pam laughs, really laughs, remembering.

"So, I really don't want to look at Dwight for six weeks," Jim says, unable to hold in his own laughter.

"Too bad!"

He shakes his head and smiles.

"You know, it really is too bad," he says, sighing.

"What?"

"That no one else will ever know how good you are. I don't even think you realize it."

"It's nothing…just harmless doodles. It's stupid."

"It's not _nothing_, Pam. And it's _not_ stupid. You could really do something with this, you know? Are you sure you don't want to do that seminar thing?"

"Jim. Don't."

"Fine. I just think--"

"I know what you think, thanks."

"No need to get hostile."

"I know. No, you're right. It might have been a great opportunity, but I can't right now, okay? Look, can we just drop it?"

"Officially letting it go _now._"

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"I really thought…" she stops. She can't even finish her thought. Verbalizing it makes it too real. "When they took you away you were covered in blood."

He looks confused. She wonders what he even remembers about the accident. She read once that people that suffer traumas, like the one Jim did today, rarely remember them.

"What? Blood?"

"That's all I saw…red, everywhere."

She shivers. Just verbalizing it makes her feel queasy.

"Ooh! Oh, no, Pam. Michael ran me right into a stack of paper dye. What you saw? It wasn't blood, just dye no.17."

"Dye no.17?" she says, incredulously.

"Yeah. That's it. I'm okay. Seriously. Just a few bumps and bruises. A break or two, but other than that…I'm, you know, good. Okay?"

"Okay. It's just…"

"You were…?"

"Scared? Yeah."

The both nod in sync.

She doesn't know what he's thinking and it's too late at night to even hazard a guess. All she knows now is that it's been a long day and she can't stop the yawn from escaping her mouth.

"Tired?"

"A little," she answers, embarrassed.

Jim gives her a gently nudge.

"Maybe you should go home. I'm sure Roy's getting worried by now."

"No, he's probably asleep. He doesn't worry when I'm with you."

Jim snorts and reaches out to turn off the lamp.

"Huh, not sure if I should be insulted or not… Way to injure my ego there, Pam."

She shrugs, gets up and turns off the light switch near the door, casting the room in shadows.

"I didn't mean it like that. It's just… Roy… He doesn't really worry about stuff like that."

He rolls his eyes because he must think she's can't see him in the dark. She's not exactly sure how to take it, so she lets it roll off her shoulders.

"Well…it's good that he's so trusting."

"Yeah, I guess," she says, making her way back to the bed.

She yawns again, trying to shield it with her hand. Jim catches her and chuckles.

"Come on," he says and pats the empty space beside him.

She hesitates, but only long enough to take in a deep breath. As if to prepare herself for something big—a moment that she can't fully anticipate, but will inevitably change her _and_ their relationship forever.

"Mmm, this is nice," he says, dreamily.

The vibrations in his chest radiate towards her. She can feel the deep vibrato against her entire left side. It sends tingles along her skin. And this,_ this_ is what she thinks intimate feels like. He drapes his arm around her shoulders and pulls her close; closer than she's ever been to anyone, she thinks, fleetingly. Pam closes her eyes and breathes him in. He smells like plaster and cologne and dye no.17.

"This is weird," she says. She cranes her neck to look at him, but he's staring up at the ceiling, so she lets herself relax into a more comfortable position.

"Why, exactly?"

"I don't know. It just is. Roy hates to cuddle," she explains over a yawn.

She feels him pull away, even if he physically remains in the same place.

"Oh…did you not want…?"

"No! I mean, I… I don't mind."

"Okay."

It's easier this way. Not being able to really look at each other. It takes off the pressure or something.

"You know," he says, after a beat, "I didn't really realize that that was what we were doing…you know, cuddling, until you brought it up. It's, uh, it is a_ little_ weird now."

"Did you want to…?"

"Nope, I'm good. Just felt like pointing it out."

"So?"

"So?"

"Tell me something."

"What?"

"I don't know. Anything. Tell me a secret or something."

"Well, let's see… A secret, huh? Well, here's something you probably don't know... Nah, nope, can't do it. That one's a little too--"

"Ooh, you _have_ to tell me now!"

She's excited like a little girl playing truth or dare for the first time. There's something naughty about discussing secrets in the dark and she wonders if he's gripped by it, too.

"Fine, fine. But if it gets spread around the office, I'll know who the source was. So, long story short, I used to sleep with a blankie."

"What!"

She can't hide the smile that spreads across her face and the tiny giggle she lets spill from her mouth.

"Hey, don't laugh! You said you wouldn't laugh."

"No, no, I said I wouldn't tell anyone. There's a difference."

"It was implied, Pam."

"Okay, fine, I'm sorry. Go on. You used to sleep with a blankie…"

"Yeah, so I slept with it until I was, like, I dunno, maybe fourteen?"

"_Seriously_?"

"Yeah. Okay, I'm realizing this isn't really the manliest story to tell you, but it's true. I slept with it until I was fourteen. There."

"So what happened when you were fourteen that made you part ways with this "blankie"?"

"I met a girl."

"A girl?"

"Yep. Sarah Swanson."

"Swanson, like the TV dinners?"

"Hush. Man, I had _such_ a crush on her," he says, sounding wistful.

A hint of jealousy percolates out of nowhere. Pam shakes it off.

"And did you ever get to go out with her?"

"Are you kidding me? I was fourteen and I slept with a blankie! And I think you've seen my yearbook photo... Anyway, my best friend liked her, too. Turns out he spilled the beans…and the rest, as they say, is history. What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Any stories of unrequited love?"

"Oh, no. No, not really. I was too interested in school—art, mostly—to acknowledge boys…and then I met Roy."

"Oh, okay. So, if you _hadn't_ met Roy, where do you think you'd be?"

"Oh. Oh, I… I don't know. I can't imagine my life without Roy."

Was her hearing playing tricks on her or did Jim just stop breathing?

The truth is she's too afraid to imagine her life without Roy. If she hadn't met him, she might have followed other pursuits. She might have been an artist by now--maybe not successful, but struggling. She might have even had a showcase or two under her belt. But she hardly ever lets herself dream that big. It's unrealistic.

That's not the only reason she doesn't allow herself to fantasize about what could have been… because there are worse possibilities to compete with the positive ones. She's almost ashamed to think them, because if she hadn't met Roy…well, then, she wouldn't have ever met Jim, either. And that frightens her more than it should, more than anything else.

They settle into a companionable silence.

The next time she lifts her head to look at Jim, she can tell the drugs are kicking in. His eyes have started to droop and his grip around her shoulders has become lax.

She realizes she's leaning over him, her body practically draped over his. She reaches out, her hand hovering over his face, until she finally lets it drop lightly onto his cheek. He hasn't asked her to move, so she doesn't. She continues to smooth her fingers over his face. He closes his eyes and lets out a low sound in the back of his throat. His mouth is red and a little swollen at the corner, but it's the gash above his eye that concerns her the most. When she touches it softly, his eyes blink open.

"Oops, sorry. Does it hurt?

"Nah."

"You'll probably have a scar," she whispers, suddenly aware how close her face is to his.

"Good, been meaning to get one, actually. The ladies love scars."

"Riiight."

"It's a fact, Pam. A widely known fact. You should read more."

His hand covers hers and slides it off his forehead, down toward his chest. She can feel the rapid beat of his heart under her palm and her own heart starts to beat a little faster.

She can tell he wants her to stay…and because she wants to, she decides the smart thing-- the _right_ thing--to do, is to go. She doesn't move, though. Instead, she sinks deeper into his side and tugs on his hand.

"What-?"

"Shh…"

Tentative. That's how it starts. Tentative and soft like air dancing across her skin. Almost chaste.

They both pull back at the same time.

"Uh, Pam?"

"Shh…"

She presses her lips to his again and this time, his hands cup her face and pull her toward him. He touches her like she's this sacred treasure that he's not quite sure how to handle. His whole body is trembling against hers and she wants to sink into him and make him see that she's just a girl, not anything special.

She's surprised that his lips aren't demanding or forceful and he lets her control the kiss because he doesn't seem sure enough of himself.

Not yet, at least.

It makes her ache for him. She's not used to all this reverence, to this worship. It scares her more than roughness and indifference ever has. She lets her tongue slide out of her mouth and gently licks his bottom lip to help him along. His fingers still on her face and something inside of him must break because his mouth opens beneath hers and he gives in. Lets it happen. Participates.

It's everything she thinks a first kiss should be. She consciously forgets that there was another time she kissed him, another first kiss. And why does this keep happening? Why can't she just be near him and not want this? When did Jim turn into _Jim, _someone she can't imagine her life without, someone she can't imagine not sharing more first kisses with some day.

He buries his fingers in her hair, pulls her closer so she's pressed against his chest and she can barely breathe, but she doesn't care.

She rolls on top of him and pins his arms at his sides. He could move her if he wanted to, but he doesn't. He lets her do whatever she wants. And what she wants is to look at him. Really look at Jim Halpert.

What she sees is beautiful.

And then she moves so she's laying on top of him. She can feel him, hard against her. When he tries to bow his head, she tilts his chin so he's looking her in the eye as she slides down his body, aligning them in the most intimate way. A tremor runs through him.

"_Jesus_," he whispers and presses on her spine.

And his fingers are so long and warm and strong and caring that it makes her want to cry. They find their way inside her shirt and onto her bare skin and then she is the one groaning and pressing against him, squirming at the woozy feeling in her stomach.

Roy can't even get it up after a few beers. Sometimes he comes to bed half-drunk insisting on how much he loves her and how much he wants her. He grinds himself against her hip until she rolls over and lets him on top of her, but most of the time he passes out before he can even get her underwear off. She's gotten used to it.

Somehow she doesn't see that scenario playing out with Jim, because Jim is hard even with pain medication coursing through his system and clouding up his brain; he's harder than Roy's ever been, she thinks. And she wants to know what it would feel like, what she would feel, to have him inside of her, filling her, moving in time with her.

And it scares her. It scares her to know that she's happier now than she's been in the past five years. That her body and her mind and maybe even her heart are crying out for her to take Jim and make him a part of her. It scares her to know that she could ever want someone that badly. That she has wanted Jim that much this whole time.

He whispers her name and his lips are soft on her neck. They are tangled up in each other and Pam's forgotten the rest of the world exists, until Jim's pulling away and breathing heavily against the top of her ear. His kisses her temple like he's just discovered a new part of her that he just has to mark as his. But then it's like the truth of that hits him and he realizes what kind of lie they're really tangled up in.

"We should stop," he pants.

He has to be kidding.

"Stop?" she says, and worms her fingers over the fabric of his boxers and onto his abdomen. He sucks in a breath. She smiles and nips his earlobe, whispering sweetly, "Ooh, wait, are you doing that thing where you try to be all noble so that I protest and beg you to have sex with me?"

"What! No! Pam, _no_," he chokes out.

"Really? 'Cause I would totally fall for that."

She laughs.

"Really?"

"No."

"You're impossible, you know that?"

He indulges her with another powerful, slow kiss and then he pulls back again, firm in his decision.

"Really. We should stop."

She sees it in his eyes that he's serious.

She pulls back like she's been slapped.

"Am I hurting you?"

Maybe she was being too rough. Maybe he's more hurt than he let on. She thinks these things, but even she can't maintain this lie.

"Pam."

Pam is not an answer. She's never heard him say her name like that. It's like something deep inside of him is breaking. Like her name is the only thing left he has to hold onto. Like that one word has the ability to shatter him. And what is she doing to him? God, she doesn't deserve him…or the way he's looking at her. Like he would do anything to just make this all be real.

"What? What is it?"

"What are we doing? Pam, I..."

He sounds so lost and confused that it makes her ashamed.

"What? Just say it."

"You're engaged. I mean, that…that's huge. And I don't just want to be... I want it _all_, Pam."

It's like ice water poured down her back. She tries to move away, but he grabs her wrist—his grip is surprisingly strong and her mind goes to dangerous places, passionate, all-encompassing places.

"I know that."

"Then…why?"

He looks crushed. And there may be tears in his eyes or it may be her own clouding her vision, she's not sure which. Maybe it's both.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, and stops her lip from trembling by biting it harder than necessary.

Then, she does something she shouldn't. She kisses him again to relieve the ache in her heart. But it doesn't work. It just gets worse as his tongue slips into her mouth and tastes like desperation and finality. Because this is the _last_ time. There can be no more first kisses. And they both know it.

She pulls away and rests her forehead against his. There's no sound in the room except their heavy breathing and the hum of the fluorescent lighting.

"This—It was a mistake. We—I shouldn't have… I'm glad you're okay."

He releases her wrist and it feels cold and foreign. Like it's no longer a part of her own body. She looks at it only to realize her whole body is trembling—no longer in a good way. And she is sorry. Sorrier than she's ever been in her whole life.

She gets off the bed and puts ten feet between them. It's as much distance as she can stand and enough to help her resist temptation. Barely.

"Pam?"

"Yeah?"

"Just tell me he deserves you. I don't care if it's a lie. I just need to hear you say it."

"He…" She swallows the lump in her throat and wills her tears not to fall. "He deserves me."

"Okay," he says and turns his head so he's looking at the wall instead of straight into her eyes.

She can hear the defeat in his voice. It makes her want to crawl back into that impossibly small bed with him, to comfort him, but instead she turns around and walks out of the room as fast as she can.

She leans against the wall just outside the room. Her bra is still off her shoulder and she doesn't even know how it got that way. There's a cool draft coming from the air conditioner overhead. She shivers and hugs her arms around her body and doesn't worry about making sure her clothes are put in place.

Everything inside of her is still humming with Jim's touch…she can still taste him on her tongue.

She stands there for a long time; long enough to forget where she belongs.

Maybe she never really knew.

In the car, she fixes her hair and straightens her clothes and prepares herself to maintain the lie.


End file.
